art of the next before
all was completed. About three o'clock on the 26th we bade farewell
to Raekvik and made a bend into Laurvik Bay, in order to stand out to
sea by Frederiksvaern. Archer himself had to take the wheel and steer
his child this last bit before leaving the ship. And then came the
farewell hand-shake; but few words were spoken, and they got into
the boat, he, my brothers, and a friend, while the Fram glided ahead
with her heavy motion, and the bonds that united us were severed. It
was sad and strange to see this last relic of home in that little
skiff on the wide blue surface, Anker's cutter behind, and Laurvik
farther in the distance. I almost think a tear glittered on that fine
old face as he stood erect in the boat and shouted a farewell to us
and to the Fram. Do you think he does not love the vessel? That he
believes in her I know well. So we gave him the first salute from
the Fram's guns--a worthier inauguration they could not well have had.

Full speed ahead, and in the calm, bright summer weather, while the
setting sun shed his beams over the land, the Fram stood out towards
the blue sea, to get its first roll in the long, heaving swell. They
stood up in the boat and watched us for long.

We bore along the coast in good weather, past Christiansand. The
next evening, June 27th, we were off the Naze. I sat up and chatted
with Scott-Hansen till late in the night. He acted as captain on
the trip from Christiania to Trondhjem, where Sverdrup was to join,
after having accompanied his family to Steenkiaer. As we sat there
in the chart-house and let the hours slip by while we pushed on in
the ever-increasing swell, all at once a sea burst open the door and
poured in. We rushed out on deck. The ship rolled like a log, the
seas broke in over the rails on both sides, and one by one up came
all the crew. I feared most lest the slender davits which supported
the long-boats should give way, and the boats themselves should go
overboard, perhaps carrying away with them a lot of the rigging. Then
twenty-five empty paraffin casks which were lashed on deck broke loose,
washed backward and forward, and gradually filled with water; so that
the outlook was not altogether agreeable. But it was worst of all when
the piles of reserve timber, spars, and planks began the same dance,
and threatened to break the props under the boats. It was an anxious
hour. Sea-sick, I stood on the bridge, occupying myself in alternately
m